Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Bring him outside where the light’s better,’ Matt says.

  I rub behind the pony’s ears as I encourage him into the sunlight. He must be about 13.2 hands high – I can reach comfortably around his shoulders. His hooves are so overgrown that they remind me of Aladdin’s slippers. I stand him just a few steps away from the stable door for Matt to have a look at him first. His ribs are visible and his coat is thick for the time of year and like a bear’s.

  The pony is happy for the vet to scan him for a microchip: there isn’t one. He’s reasonably cheerful about having his wounds examined and treated, and his girth measured so Matt can make a rough calculation of his weight, and fairly chilled about having his heart listened to, but before I can tie him up to look at his feet, he decides he’s had enough. He tosses his head, kicks up his heels and canters off towards the paddock, with me in tow. As we reach the fence, he drops his head and tears at the grass, as if he hasn’t eaten for a month.

  ‘I couldn’t stop him,’ I say, trying to catch my breath as I check my hands for rope burn and drag him back.

  ‘It’s always the quiet ones,’ Matt says. ‘Has he some ID I can use when I’m writing my report? What shall I put? Chestnut pony?’

  ‘He needs a name,’ Tessa says.

  ‘What about Blaze?’ Matt suggests.

  ‘I was thinking Paddington because he reminds me of a bear,’ I contribute.

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ Tessa agrees.

  ‘Paddington it is then,’ Matt says. ‘What are Jack’s plans for him?’

  ‘If he can trace the owner, which is unlikely because he hasn’t had any luck so far, he’ll pursue a prosecution. The pony will stay here until he’s ready for rehoming.’

  ‘We’ll see what happens then. I’m sorry to rush off like this. It’s good to meet you, Flick.’ Matt leaves as I fetch my knife, nippers and rasp.

  ‘Don’t let me hold you up,’ I say to Tessa, who’s waiting.

  ‘If you’re sure.’ The baby has settled. He smiles at me and the soother drops out of his mouth. Tessa catches it before it reaches the ground. ‘I’ve got pretty good reflexes now. There’ll be hell to pay if he can’t have it back.’ Smiling, she pops it straight back into his mouth. ‘Thanks for coming out to us today. I expect we’ll be seeing you again at some stage, not that we take in many horses here. If ever you want a couple of rabbits or guinea pigs, or a dog, we’re inundated at the moment.’

  ‘I’d like a dog one day, but I already have a horse and he takes up most of my spare time.’ I put Paddington’s foot back down and straighten up, rubbing the painful knots from the muscles in my back. ‘I’ll put him away when I’m done.’

  When I’ve finished trimming his feet, I lead him into the stable, where he returns to his hay-net. He’s a sweet pony, I think, and I can’t help wondering what kind of life he’s led, and what brought him to this.

  By the time I get back to Furzeworthy, it’s gone six, but Robbie doesn’t seem to mind me turning up late. Dressed in a navy T-shirt, jeans and short boots, he waves when I arrive at the yard behind the house.

  He’s with Kerry and a bay mare of similar build to Nelson. Her coat gleams like a conker freshly split from the shell, and the tips of her ears, her knees and hocks, mane and tail are black. Kerry hangs on to her via a rope halter and aims a squirt of fly-spray at her. The mare strikes out with her front leg. Kerry jumps back and tries again from a safer distance. The mare rears straight up and slams her front feet back down on the concrete. Kerry swears and hands the end of the rope to Robbie.

  He leads the mare forwards and asks her to move back again to make sure she’s listening to him before he calls Kerry to continue with what she’s doing. The mare flattens her ears and gives her handlers the evil eye. Robbie doesn’t speak. Using pressure on the rope, he asks her to take a step forwards again, and rubs her neck when she obeys.

  Kerry gives her another go with the fly-spray and, this time, she stands quietly with her head lowered.

  Robbie turns and gestures for me to approach.

  ‘Hi, Flick. Come and join us, if you dare.’ He chuckles. ‘Meet Diva, our new recruit.’

  ‘She’s rather beautiful,’ I say.

  ‘She’s quite horrid,’ Kerry says with feeling. ‘Robbie, I don’t know what you and Dillon thought you were doing buying her.’

  ‘She has spirit, which is just what we need, along with bravery, courage and trainability.’ He grins ruefully. ‘We’ll have to see if we can win her round to our way of thinking. If not, she’ll have been rather an expensive mistake.’

  ‘I’ll put her away,’ Kerry says as a car draws up on the far side of the yard next to the rear entrance to the main house.

  ‘Thanks,’ Robbie says.

  ‘I’ll talk to you about the other thing later.’

  ‘Other thing?’ He frowns. ‘Oh yes, that. I’ll check the diary.’

  ‘I’ve checked. You are free that day – I’ve put a reminder on your mobile. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. Whatever.’ He pulls his mobile from his pocket and unlocks it with a password which means, I guess, that rider and groom are pretty close. Ryan and I never shared our passwords.

  Robbie returns his mobile to his pocket as she leads the horse away.

  ‘Daddy!’ A girl dressed in school uniform – a royal blue polo shirt, grey pleated skirt and brown sandals – comes running across the yard from the car, while a woman – Robbie’s mother, I assume – takes some shopping bags out of the boot.

  ‘Maisie, this is Flick.’ Robbie holds her hand tightly. ‘Flick, this is Maisie.’

  ‘Hello. I’m seven. How old are you?’ She looks up at me.

  ‘Twenty-nine.’

  When she smiles, I can see the resemblance between her and her father in her high cheekbones and deep blue eyes. Her long hair is a lighter brown with a fringe and tied back in a ponytail.

  Robbie sweeps her up into his arms. She giggles and clonks him affectionately over the head with her book bag.

  ‘Did you have a good time at Ashley’s house?’ he asks.

  ‘We made fairy-cakes.’

  ‘I can tell.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You have icing sugar stuck to your chin.’ He rubs it away gently with a finger.

  ‘Nanny’s got some in the car for you. We put sprinkles on and fairy-dust and everything.’ Maisie puts her arms around his neck and tips her head to one side. ‘Can you help me with my sentences now?’

  ‘You know Miss Fox only gave me three out of ten last time.’

  ‘She gave you six. Please, Daddy …’

  ‘I’ll come and help with your homework as soon as I’ve taken some hay over to Wisteria House for Flick’s horse.’

  ‘And then can I have a ride on T-rex?’

  ‘Not tonight. I’ve had a busy day.’

  ‘You don’t have to lead me.’

  ‘You know very well that I do. There’s no way you’re riding him on your own.’

  ‘But I really, really, really want to ride on my own.’ Her lower lip wobbles and tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. ‘Demi at school rides off the lead rein.’

  ‘That’s because she has a sensible pony. You know what T-rex’s like. He’s a—’

  ‘Very naughty boy,’ she finishes for him.

  ‘That’s right. One day we’ll find you a pony that I can trust to look after you.’

  I can’t help smiling. Robbie seems more protective of his daughter than my dad was of me. When I was a child, he bought or leased me the best ponies and the most expensive kit: fitted tweed show jackets with velvet collars; canary-yellow jodhpurs; shiny leather jodhpur boots. I had long hair down to my waist and Mum used to plait it at the same time as she plaited the ponies’ manes and tails, finishing it off with a ribbon to match their velvet brow-bands.

  Some of the ponies were highly strung, and on the rare occasions that I came off, my father would pick me up, dust me down and drop me stra
ight back on. He treated me like a princess, but one with attitude. I dismiss a twinge of regret. I wish my father had the same confidence in me now as he did back then.

  ‘Can I help you with the hay?’ Maisie asks. ‘Not this time. We agreed that you wouldn’t stay up late when you have school the next day,’ Robbie says. ‘I have to go – we don’t want Flick’s horse to starve, do we?’

  ‘Don’t be long.’ She turns and skips back to where her grandmother is waiting.

  ‘Who’d be a single parent?’ Robbie sighs. ‘Actually, apart from being utterly exhausting at times, it’s brilliant. Maisie’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  ‘She’s lovely.’ Like her dad, I want to add, my heart melting. Not only is he the ultimate horse-mad male, it’s obvious that he loves his daughter to bits, too.

  ‘This way.’ He moves up to my side.

  I sense the firm touch of his hand against my back as he guides me in the direction of the barn in the yard, beyond where the trailer, a double horsebox in blue aluminium with a cream top, is parked with the tailgate down.

  ‘How many did you say you wanted?’

  ‘Ten will be enough for now. There isn’t much room to store them at Mel’s.’

  I follow him into the barn and watch him climb up the side of the stack.

  ‘Watch out!’ He pushes a bale from the top. It whistles past my ear and bounces across the floor. ‘And again.’ He continues until there’s a heap of bales on the ground. He half slides, half jumps down and goes to pick one up. His T-shirt has ridden up at the back revealing a sheen of sweat across his lightly tanned loins, and the blocks of muscle on either side of his spine. He’s wearing a worn leather belt and navy underpants with a bright pink band around the top.

  Forcing myself to look elsewhere, I pick up another bale and carry it out to the trailer.

  Robbie is fit and gut-wrenchingly gorgeous. There’s no harm in looking, is there? Louise says he’s single, but I don’t know for sure if he’s available, and I’m not interested in a relationship, but I can’t help wondering what he sees when he looks at me.

  He pauses from loading the trailer, a half-smile on his lips as he glances across. I catch sight of my reflection in the wing mirror of the four-by-four. I run my fingers through my hair, but there isn’t much I can do about my dismal turnout. I’ve been wearing the same polo shirt and jeans all day, my boots are dusty and my fingernails are cracked and grubby.

  Having loaded the trailer, I close the ramp and follow Robbie along the drive and down the lane in the truck. We pass the cottage again, where the cherry trees are in full bloom now, covered in the flouncy, candyfloss-pink blossoms that confirm that spring is here to stay.

  ‘How was your meeting?’ I ask as we unload the hay into the stable beside Rafa’s.

  ‘It was very promising. I showed the TV producer around the yard. He made all the right noises, but he isn’t going to make a decision until he’s seen a live performance. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, he isn’t available – due to other commitments such as holidays and filming – until the Country Show.’

  ‘Is that the same as the Farm and Country Festival that Mel’s told me about?’

  ‘No, that’s in April. The Country Show is at the end of June. That gives us three months to train Diva as a spare for the team.

  ‘I need this contract,’ he continues. ‘He’s looking at hiring me as stunt rider and advisor on set, as well as four of our horses – Nelson in particular – and someone to give one of the actors a crash-course in how to ride.’

  ‘Not literally, I hope.’

  ‘Oh no. I’m pretty hot on safety. I don’t want any of my horses getting hurt.’ He pauses, resting one bale on top of another inside the stable. ‘What kind of day have you had?’

  ‘I shod an ultra-sensitive thoroughbred. That was stressful.’

  ‘Not Rambo?’ Robbie asks.

  I nod. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Gina sent him here for six weeks of intensive training in the autumn. I’m not sure it made much difference.’

  ‘She says he’s getting on well.’

  ‘That’s quite gratifying to hear. I thought he might be too much for her.’

  ‘After Rambo, I went over to the Sanctuary to trim a pony’s feet.’

  Robbie moves aside so I can throw the last bale on top of the rest.

  ‘Have you ever thought of taking on a rescue?’ I ask. ‘I don’t know if he’d make a riding pony, but he was very sweet and quiet on the ground.’

  ‘Sophia from the Pony Club is keeping an eye out for a pony for us, one that’s been through a family, been outgrown and passed down like an old pair of boots; one who knows their job.’

  ‘Ponies like that are like gold dust. You could be waiting for ages.’

  ‘I don’t want any old pony. I need one I can rely on – it needs to be completely bombproof for my daughter.’

  ‘I couldn’t fault him. He struck me as the kind of pony who’d appreciate someone small to love him.’

  ‘What’s he like then?’ Robbie sighs. ‘Sell him to me.’

  ‘He’s about 13.2, chestnut with a white blaze.’

  ‘A good horse is never a bad colour, so they say. How old?’

  ‘Middling, according to the vet. Fifteen or sixteen. He seems to have plenty of life left in him.’

  ‘Much as it sounds like a charitable thing to do, he’s no use to me.’

  ‘He has a couple of patches where a saddle has rubbed and the hair has grown back white, so he must have had tack on at some time.’

  ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean he’d accept a saddle now.’

  ‘He might be useful as a therapy pony,’ I suggest, determined not to give up just yet.

  ‘I’m not sure that a rescue of unknown history fits the job description.’

  ‘It’s okay if you don’t think he’ll be suitable, but I liked him and he’s had a tough time. I’d like to think of him having a better life with someone like Maisie to care for him.’

  Robbie touches the corners of his eyes.

  ‘You are bringing me to tears,’ he jokes. ‘God, Flick, you are very persuasive.’

  I wish I was, I think. I wish I could persuade him not only to consider the pony as an option, but me as well, because although I’m virtually falling over myself in front of him, he’s treating me as a new friend, one of the lads. He isn’t looking at me with any hint of appreciation or attraction in his eyes. There’s nothing to suggest that he’s noticed that I’m a woman – and why should he, I ask myself, when I smell of horse and can throw a bale of hay as high as he can?

  ‘What’s this pony’s name?’

  ‘He didn’t have one, so we christened him Paddington. I suppose you might want to change it,’ I add when he stands in front of me, his mouth curving into a smile.

  ‘What kind of name is that? Who chose it?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Paddington!’ He laughs as he follows me out of the stable. ‘Let me think about it.’

  I close the door behind us. Rafa is in the adjacent stable, fidgeting to get out and scraping the floor. I take a couple of screwed-up notes from my pocket and hand them over to Robbie.

  ‘Here’s what I owe you for the hay, and I said I’d buy you a drink.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the delivery. It didn’t take long.’ As I suppress a twinge of disappointment, he moves up to pat Rafa’s neck. My horse looks past him, tossing his head with impatience, as if to say, ‘Stop wittering and let me out of here.’

  ‘Have you ridden him past the pigs again?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ve been too busy to take him out.’ I pause, wondering when I’m next going to see Robbie – not because I fancy the breeches off him, you understand, but I could do with a friend to show me around.

  My friends from school and uni are scattered across the country, and busy with their own lives. Even Sarah, who’s been like a sister to me, is currently less availa
ble than she used to be because she’s pregnant and moving house. We talk on the phone and keep up on Facebook, but it isn’t the same as meeting face to face. ‘How about going out for a hack sometime?’

  ‘That would be great. I can’t give Nelson a good gallop when I’m out with Maisie, and Dillon’s not keen on keeping me company. Much as I love spending time with my half-brother, you can have too much of a good thing.’

  ‘Half-brother?’

  ‘Everyone thinks of us as full brothers,’ Robbie explains. ‘Although Sally Ann is my mum as far as I’m concerned, she isn’t my biological mother. She’s Dad’s second wife. I don’t remember my birth mother. I don’t know if that’s because I was too young, or because I don’t want to remember her. She walked out when I was eighteen months old.’ He bites his lip before continuing, ‘People say she must have had her reasons, that she must have been deeply depressed or desperate to abandon her own child, but I’ll never understand how she could do it.

  ‘When I remember how small and vulnerable Maisie was when she was the same age, I couldn’t have abandoned her. It’s incomprehensible to me, and cruel.’

  ‘You don’t have to talk about it.’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s ancient history. I’m over it.’ A shadow crosses his eyes and I wonder if it really is something that you can recover from. ‘Next weekend is Easter. Let’s ride out on the Sunday if you’re free. If it’s a nice day, we can take the horses down to the river. I know where the water’s deep enough for them to swim.’

  ‘Won’t it be too cold?’

  ‘The forecast is for warmer weather, a mini-heatwave.’

  ‘Okay, that sounds fun. Brilliant.’

  ‘How about I meet you here at ten?’

  ‘That’s perfect.’ I want to say that any time’s fine with me, but I don’t want to sound too keen.

  I watch him drive away in a hurry to get back to his daughter. I spend an hour looking after Rafa. I turn him out, scrub the water trough until I’d be happy to drink from it myself, and make his day-bed, as I call it, ready for the morning. When I go indoors, I have the house to myself. Louise has left a note telling me to help myself to the fish pie that’s in the fridge. She and Ashley have gone to her parents’ for the evening. Mel has survived the op to fuse the bones in his spine and is in recovery. She’s put the chickens to bed. Smiley face.